


Damned and Despairing

by mithborien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-25
Updated: 2005-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-19 14:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithborien/pseuds/mithborien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day he breaks apart even more but if he has someone else to blame, then it'll be okay for him to fall to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned and Despairing

He sits alone in the bar, at a table tucked away into the corner where the damned and despairing typically reside. One hand is curled around the elegant neck of a Firewhiskey bottle and the other is clenched around the wand in his pocket. The other patrons give him a wide berth of covert glances and under the breath muttering but he is taking no chances with being interrupted tonight.

He signals the barman and within minutes another bottle is placed by his hand. He slides a few sickles across the stained table to cover his tab and he is left alone with his memories and a fresh glass of intoxicant to chase them all away.

It takes him a good couple of hours but eventually Remus J. Lupin manages to get himself drunk enough to pass out.

\+ + +

It has been six years since that fateful October night and Remus still hasn’t moved on. He tells everybody that he is doing fine, that he has a job and an apartment and although things are tough he is making a new life for himself.

He’s lying though and every day he breaks apart even more.

He is behind by one month on the rent for his apartment and from the glares his boss has been giving him lately he doesn’t think he is going to be able to keep his job long enough to catch up. He sees the faces of people long dead in the street and their accusing, pitiful glances don’t go away when he shuts his eyes. It’s hard for him to get a decent night’s sleep anymore, no matter what illegal substances he takes and the sad fact is that his only reprieve from the thoughts and memories that are ripping him to shreds is when he transforms every month. He doesn’t have to pretend to the wolf that he is all right.

But what are you supposed to do when three of your best friends were betrayed and ultimately killed, one way or another, by your last remaining friend and only you are left to pick up the pieces and wonder what the hell went wrong. Why are you the one that’s left alive and made to shoulder things that are too big and too jagged to hold without shattering?

He isn’t strong enough, no matter what his mother used to tell him, and he doesn’t know how long he can continue with the façade that he puts forth day after day to fool those who try to be his friends.

He knows he can’t continue to live like this and he knows he can’t keep blaming himself for the things that may or may not have been out of his control.

He needs someone to give him a way out because he knows he can’t let go.

\+ + +

The house is just as he imagines it, as black on the outside as the occupants on the inside. Sprawling cast iron window frames covering the front like some sick swarm of parasites and cracked bricks and dying plants everywhere he looks. Quite a fitting end for such a festering family, he thinks.

The silver serpent door knocker seems to twist and turn in his direction when he approaches. The tiny silver heads poised to strike, as if ready to empty their poison into his veins. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had been charmed to do just that to prevent potential intruders.

But the house has been falling apart for years now and the charms and wards that once made this one of the most impenetrable dwellings in Britain have faded and drained away so that even one such as himself has no trouble entering with a few well placed disarming spells. The black expanse of wood slides slowly open and the house expels a smell of sickness and musty wallpaper like a dying man’s rattling breath.

It’s silent inside as he moves forward on shoes worn soft by age. There is an umbrella stand made out of what he hopes is not a troll leg and a few pieces of unidentifiable furniture hidden by white sheets. The Black family haven’t exactly been living the high life lately. He hears a slight noise from upstairs, the shift of wood against carpet and he makes his way towards the stairs.

There used to be an entire staff of house elves to take care of the upkeep of the house but over time it has been reduced to but one. As a result, dust collects in the corners of the stairs and frames hang crookedly on walls, empty but for mouldy backdrops and dying landscapes.

It’s slightly warmer upstairs but he still feels the chill of empty rooms and forgotten screams. There is a splay of warm light across the landing floor from a half open door and he moves closer to take a look inside. The serpent shaped candelabras are completely lit and the dark green material covering the furniture make it seem as if this is the only room in the house that is left alive.

But then he sees her and all thoughts of life are forgotten. She’s sitting at a dark stained table laid out with a tea tray and platters of delicacies, more food that she could possibly eat but it lays forgotten as one of her hands grasp a goblet of dark red wine. Her other hand is tapping the beat of the slow and sombre music being played by the gramophone in the corner.

She won’t be able to hear him coming, so he waits, like the predator he pretends not to be. She looks far older than he had thought; the skin revealed by her robe is wrinkled, pale and blotchy. Not even magic, apparently, can stem the ravages of age and grief for the wrong reasons. Black hair streaked with grey is piled elegantly atop her head and there is a ransom of jewels around her neck and fingers.

He pauses at the doorway, one foot in the room, momentarily overcome with the reality of who is sitting before him. This, he thinks, is the origin of everything that has gone wrong with his life. This is Sirius’ mother and if she had never existed then Sirius would never have been born and if Sirius had never been born, then he would never had shown Remus what is was like to be thought of as nothing more than an animal. He would never have betrayed his supposed best friend and wife to Voldemort and left an orphaned boy that Remus isn’t allowed to see. He wouldn’t have murdered thirteen innocent people, boyhood friends and bystanders and neglected to include Remus in that little massacre. If Sirius had never been allotted a place in this world then Remus would still have friends, he would still have people he could fall back on and he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his job or apartment because he would know there would be people waiting to pick him up again after he crashed to the ground.

This is the woman who is the cause of all his troubles and if he could blame her then it would be okay for him to break apart because it wouldn’t be his fault. He could pick himself up and put away the pieces of hurt and guilt because the one that was to blame was no more and he would be able to stop hating himself.

He doesn’t realise it when he starts to move, his frenzied thoughts settling into tentative order in his mind but all of a sudden his fingers are locked around her neck and a startled arrogant shout is cut off deep within her throat. He tightens his fingers, watching the skin on her neck turn red and a desperate rush to end this as fast as possible fills him. Nails as sharp as talons scrabble frantically at his wrists but his strength is more than a match for this wasting spectre of a woman.

Thankfully, she doesn’t last long and she slumps against his chest, the will to live draining out of her faster than he would have thought possible. He takes one step backward and she falls to the ground with a sickening thud. Her eyes are wide but blank, mouth hanging open and her face is bereft of the cruel expression he always imagined she would wear.

But she is most definitely dead and as Remus watches the red marks fade from her neck, he wonders when the heavy feelings of pain and betrayal are going to disappear from his belly because he doesn’t think he can stomach them for much longer. But even when the pitiful warmth from Mrs Black’s body has dispersed and he is left waiting, crouched horrified against one wall, the perverse feelings remain.

James and Lily are still dead, Peter still murdered, Harry still lost and Sirius is still locked away behind stone and nightmares. The gramophone is still playing in the corner, the slow beat mocking the hysterical turning of his heart. The emotions of guilt and betrayal are still clawing at each other in the deep depths of his stomach and every breath he takes renews the pain of being left behind that is threatening to break free.

He’s still a werewolf, still alone and all this has proved nothing except the fact that he can’t change the past and what has happened because of it. This hasn’t made things better; in fact, it’s shown Remus a whole crack below rock bottom that he can fall into.

The sound of the solitary house elf returning echoes from downstairs and Remus chokes back an anguished cry at what he has done that sounds too much like a howl in his mind before he flees.

\+ + +

These days the house is just as sombre as it was nine years ago except sunlight is welcomed where once it would have been shunned and the formerly empty portraits are now occupied.

Remus doesn’t mind so much when she shrieks and yells at him. _Abomination_ , _halfblood_ and _halfbreed_ all fall on deaf ears and he calmly helps whoever is nearby to quiet her again. He doesn’t care when she drools and points when he passes by because everyone else just thinks it’s just because of that fact he’s a werewolf. And he doesn’t mind when her eyes roll back and her tongue hangs out as she screams because it reminds him of that one night so many years ago and that’s the one night he can never forget.

It was the one night when he realised that nothing could ever take the pain away and that shifting the blame would only delay the shock and make things worse.

That night was why he went out the next day and got a new job and an apartment that he could actually keep without going without food every other week.

It’s why he didn’t go to pieces when Sirius died because he knew that no matter whose fault it was nothing would change the fact that his best friend was truly dead.

And it’s why he doesn’t go after Greyback because he knows revenge or whatever you may choose to call it can’t change the past and it doesn’t make the present any easier.

So he just waits in Grimmauld Place for Harry to do whatever he has to do, lends help when it’s needed and takes comfort when it is given. It’s not the life he had planned on but it’s enough.

Molly says he should get out more, that he’s wasting away here but Remus just shakes his head. He’s not sure just what he might do if all the feelings of grief and hurt that are still welling deep within him are let out. He’s seen himself at his worse and will spend the rest of his life making sure it never happens again.

And after all, he thinks to himself, this house had always been home to the dead more than the living. He might as well continue the tradition.


End file.
